A beautiful Tamil film from last year, made me think of home, the kindness of strangers and my ability to receive love
Mid-way through my annual existential crisis in 2024, I saw Meiyazhagan on Netflix. The film, directed by C. Prem Kumar, hit the theaters in September and released online the following month, but I didn’t get around to watching it until late December.
It stars Arvind Swamy and Karthi in lead roles. Arvind plays Arulmozhi Varman (Arul), a somber man who, in 1996, was forced to uproot his life in Thanjavur and relocate to Chennai with his family. Decades later, he returns to his hometown for his cousin, Bhuvana’s wedding. At the ceremony, he encounters a lively and overly enthusiastic relative played by Karthi. He doesn’t recognise him but Karthi’s character refers to him as “Athaan” (a term used for a brother-in-law or aunt’s son). Arul is annoyed and evasive, but Karthi is persistent and monopolises his time there.
This is not a film one reviews. Its plot and characters are not meant to be dissected and analysed. They are just meant to be felt. The movie dwells in overwhelming nostalgia and impractical optimism. Many scenes in the film, interestingly, mirrored my own emotional dilemmas and trajectories last year. So, I figured I’d attempt to stitch together some of my disjointed thoughts in this column.
Coming home
Arul’s journey to Bhuvana’s wedding begins with hesitation. From Chennai, he must take a train to Thanjavur, then a bus to Needamangalam. As the day begins, he sits on his bed, fidgeting with a cricket bat’s rubber binding, unsure if he should go. “Are you scared to go?” his wife asks him. It’s clear that his reluctance isn’t about going to the wedding, it is about confronting the weight of returning to a place he once called home. His family has their ways of addressing his departure: his wife, practical and probing; his mother, urging cheerfulness; and his father, understanding in silence. As Arul leaves, his father places his watch on his wrist. “There is a certain way to go to a wedding,” he says.
On his train ride, Arul watches the countryside unfold to Govind Vasantha’s uplifting background score. Its lush greenery is interrupted by fleeting glimpses of his co-passengers. At Thanjavur Junction, he hesitates again. But, he gets off the train, plugging in his earphones as if they will shield him from whatever is out there.
He pauses to take in the station’s yellow sign with bold black letters. The auto ride through town is a window into a world that feels both distant and familiar. He looks with endearment at the temple of his youth, the old church, the town’s bus depot and stops to catch a glimpse of his old home. There is an unintentional smile on his face. His heart knows it’s home.
The idea of “home” has always been strange to me. I come from a small pilgrim town in Andhra Pradesh but I’ve spent most of my life in boarding schools across the country. When I was younger, my town felt too small for my dreams. I wanted to escape its dry summers, familiar faces, narrow streets and unchanging ways. The sameness bothered me. I wanted anonymity and adventure.
But more recently, something has changed. The pull towards home is magnetic. Maybe it is the vastness of the city I live in or its indifference to my existence, but my visits home have begun to feel like pilgrimages.
In every visit, there is both change and sameness. There are new buildings rising, but the bakery under the neem tree still serves its veg-puffs. The mornings still start with bhajans, the Ashram street still bustles with flower vendors and the school district still glows during festive season. When I arrive at my street, my neighbours wave, as if they’ve been waiting for me. When Amma opens the door, I forget the tiredness from my journey. I am relieved because I am home.
Now, the familiarity does not bother me. In fact, I’ve come to appreciate the comfort in knowing and being known. And last year, it hit me that in its quiet, unchanging ways, my town has been teaching me how to belong.
Strangers and kindness
Arul and Karthi’s relationship is the heart of Meiyazhagan. It’s a familiar trope—two polar opposites are brought together by circumstance. Their early interactions are marked with resistance, but over time, one person’s giddy optimism melts the other’s guarded exterior. By the end, their lives are irrevocably altered. A perfect example is 2003’s Anbe Sivam.
Throughout the movie, Arul cannot remember Karthi’s name—Meiyazhagan (which means “a beautiful man”) or who he is. For most of their journey, he is annoyed by Karthi’s endless chatter and overbarance. He wants to escape. But slowly, his walls begin to break.
In one of the film’s most touching moments, Arul spends the night at Karthi’s home. The two spend hours drinking and sharing parts of themselves. Before retiring, Karthi has a request: Arul must call him by his name and bless him and his pregnant wife in the morning. Later, his wife tells Arul that they intend to name their child after him. This leaves Arul fully overwhelmed and guilt-stricken. Burdened with the enormity of love he does not deserve, he leaves. He is unable to bring himself to stay.
Director Prem Kumar lingers upon Arul’s emotional turmoil. He lets us experience the rawness of his shame and helplessness. We follow him through the narrow streets, tears streaming as he runs. Kamal Haasan’s haunting voice sings “Yaaro Ivan Yaaro” (who is he) in the background. He stops, looks back, and cries even harder. He is torn between wanting to return and needing to leave. The love he has received is incomprehensible and his own selfishness is staring him in the face. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability on -screen which forced me to confront my own capacity to receive love.
Unexpected kindness came my way in 2024. Everytime I had convinced myself that I would fail, my friends stepped in to reassure me I wouldn’t. A couple from my childhood, who I hadn’t spoken to in nearly two decades, traced me down. Time had done nothing to weaken their love for me. Two film writers, whose work I have admired for years, responded to my messages with warmth that will last me a lifetime. A website created many years ago by a stranger from Delhi, became home to my column. Today, that stranger is a friend. When my first piece was published, people I had completely forgotten about, reached out to congratulate me and wish me luck. A new friend from an old city became my anchor of support during a year that often felt uncertain.
These instances have left me fully overwhelmed. I am still unable to comprehend what I have done to deserve this kind of love or how to give it back. One day, I hope my actions will reciprocate. But, for now, I only have words. Just two words actually: Thank you!
A hope for a new beginning
At the end of each year, like everyone else, I reflected, mulled and over-analysed the year past. This time around, I took the time to pat myself on the back for the many things I did right. But I also came to terms with the fact that a part of me broke in 2024 and I lost something special. Adulting is hard and the lingering pain of loss, heartbreak, defeat, and rejection is harder. I had to face it. We all did. There is no escape.
Yet, when the clock struck 12 on New Year’s Eve, I mustered up the courage to smile and hope again. I hugged my sister and wished my friends a happy new year. I made new resolutions and set bold goals for the new year. Some plans will succeed, others will fail. But, despite myself, I am optimistic. Perhaps, there is something inherently healing about just knowing that one chapter has ended, even if it was not a good one.
For now, I’m grateful for all the love that came my way in 2024 and look forward to meeting strangers who will become friends in 2025.
Happy New Year!
To my family and my friends. You are the reason I smile!
Spandana is the writer of the column Frames and Flashes, a space that explores films through personal experiences and unfulfilled fantasies.
a memorable film which I have seen after two decade. And added to that the actors both Arvind Swamy and karthick and also female characters have performed splendidly. added to that the director work …..fantastic. keep it up sir for your next project. Thanks and Regards.
I’ve watched this movie over 10 times and never get bored. I’ll keep watching it because it brings back memories from my past. Kudos to the director for creating such a nostalgic experience.